Irrational
by subseeker
Summary: Phil has often enough been irrational, but that one evening in Stephen's locker room leaves them lost in the middle of their feelings... Sheamus/CM Punk and, what else, slash :)
1. Chapter 1

A groan, swallowed by sealed lips. A tongue, eagerly exploring his mouth. Hands all over his chest, abs... fingers diving into his hair, tugging him closer, holding him in place. A soothing touch on his sore shoulder. A hard yet soft body pressing, sliding against his own and he holds on to that body for dear life, overwhelmed, to surprised to react...

A voice inside his mind tells him to stop this, now, before it will end in a desaster, but that voice becomes faint under the impact of a wave of all kinds of good feelings as hands grab his ass and a thigh slips between his legs, giving just the right pressure to be delicious and with a helpless little moan he bucks his hips.

He is shoved against the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him and those lips on his, they steal it away, this breath.

It is a tiny, begging sound and the feeling of those hands, slowing down, stopping their exploring, caressing that makes him move finally. He has no idea why this is happening, but fuck, what he knows is that he doesn't want this to stop.

Just as those hands pull away, as the body agaist his own draws back, he locks an arm around a slim waist to pull that body flush against himself. Hands, on his chest and in his hair again. The warm scent of sandalwood fills his nostrils and with every breath he takes he breathes... him.

If there has been a voice of reason left somewhere in his mind, it is silent now and his _everything_ narrows on this very moment, on the man he is holding in his arms.

Deep green eyes, full of anxiety, determination, but there is also a soft glow lying in them and underneath there is a heavy longing.

For a long moment the whole world and them, too, seems to be frozen. All there is... is the body in his arms, those eyes and the feeling of those hands. And the question _why_. He wants to ask it, but just as he opens his mouth, he is silenced with a quick kiss.

„Don't." The word is said quietly and it is enough to stop him from asking. The fingers in his hair smooth to the back of his neck. „Stephen..." Nothing more like a breath against his lip, like a plea almost and it sends a tingling down his spine he has never felt before.

He lets his eyes roam the familiar face, maybe to find an answer to his unspoken questions there, but there is none. The raven hair falls unruly, asking to be touched. And he does it. Lifting a hand to it, he feels the dark strands slide through his fingers, before he cups the other man's face gently and he watches in fascination as those green eyes close.

This... this can't be real, he thinks. This must be some weird dream. Maybe he has hit his head during the match and is the the trainer's room now, not in his own locker room and this is just a hallucination.

The man in his arms is... Phil. _Phil Brooks_.

He doesn't come any further with his musing. The hand on his chest moves, trails down over his abs to his crotch, cupping it, palming him through his trunks. His mind... shuts down.

With a growl he claims Phil's mouth in a rough kiss which is responded with an equal fierceness. There is no tenderness left now, only a need for more. He wants to touch the other man, but the skin he longs to feel is hidden under a tee and so he grabs the hem of the shirt, bunching it on the way up and the kiss breaks just long enough to get rid of the offending piece of fabric. Their tongues battle for dominance while his hands are busy with those dark locks again, with feeling every inch of that soft skin and it is hot to his touch, as hot as the trails Phil's fingers leave all over his upper body... as goddamn hot as the hand on his already rock-hard dick.

There is a sharp pain on his side, fading off in a delicious burning as nails are scraped over his own skin with just the right pressure and it leaves him gasping into the kiss. That briefest of moments is enough for Phil to take the lead... and Stephen surrenders.

Heat pools between his legs and he has to hold on to the other man as a skilled hand unties his trunks and pushes them down his hips, only to close around his cock. With a strangled moan he breaks away from those addictive lips, his head falling forward onto the smaller man's shoulder as the hand begins to move expertedly, quickly settling for a steady stroking in a pace that makes his heart pound hard enough to steal his breath. His blood pounds in his ears, every beat fading off in a deafening buzzing and it gets stronger with every movement of Phil's hand. Waves of goose bumps chase the other as hot breath fans over his neck...

Being locked to the spot between the wall and the body in front of him, he can't do nothing but cling to Phil, finding himself reduced to what he feels. What _Phil_ makes him feel. With helpless, stifled moans, groans he turns his head to bury his face into the crook of the other's neck. Breathing him. Hearing him breathe shuddering little breaths close to his ear. It sends sparks of heat spreading throughout his body, causing him to buck his hips hard, forcefully thrusting into the hand that feels so mindblowing good on his cock.

Within a ridiculous short time he is close to his release, his body shuddering under jolts of electricity and then Phil quickens the pace just a bit, whispers his name right into his ear and it is enough for Stephen to loose it.

With a shuddering, drawn-out groan on his lips he cums, pressing his face tightly against the soft skin of Phil's neck. The impact of his climax almost knocks him off his feet and it is Phil who holds mit up while the aftershocks roll through him in delicious little waves. Only slowly his heart and breathing slows down and with every breath he takes there is sandalwood... _Phil_...

A hand settles on his nape with an almost shocking tenderness and plays with the short hair there.

„I'm not coming back," Phil whispers right beside his ear, the words sinking very slowly into his still muzzy brain.

And then Phil pulls away from him, just like that, and leaves him standing there naked, with his trunks pooling around his feet and still shivering slightly from their little encounter. Leaves him standing there like an idiot and all Stephen can do is watching while Phil throws his tee back on and grabs his sweater, holding it on waist-height to carefully cover the traitorous spots on his jeans. His own cum. On Phil's jeans. Shaking his head to clear the fog his mind is engulfed in away, he seeks the other man's eyes, but his gaze is not answered.

„Wait... what do yer mean, yer are not coming back?" he asks a bit shakily and finds a humorless smile spreading over Phil's lips and then it comes back, that one question he has wanted to ask from the beginning. „And why... why are yer _here_?"

„I quit."

Those two words hang heavy in the air between them. The second answer though... remains unanswered. It is obvious that Phil isn't going to give him more information, so ge grabs him by the wrist as the raven haired man passes him to leave the room, but with a surprisingly forceful, almost panicked tug Phil frees his arm and closes the short distance to the door in quick strides.

„Phil!" Stephen calls, pushing away from the wall to follow him and almost trips over his own trunks. „Phil, wait!"

For the briefest of moments Phil stops, squaring his shoulders as if he wants to face him. But instead he opens the door. And leaves. The door closes with a quiet sound. A heavy quietness falls over the room.

„Phil!"

But he doesn't come back. Stephen leans back against the wall, scrubbing his hands through his face while a groan of confusion passes his lips, while he still tries to process what just has happened. His mind refuses to accept all this though.

Phil Brooks has come here, kissing the dear life out of him... giving him a hand-job for whatever reason and good God, he has actually enjoyed what the other man has done...

„God..." he exhales heavily.

And then he tells him he has quit, that he's not coming back and leaves without any kind of explanation.

„Holy... shit..."

This all... does something funny to his belly and as he looks up again, over to the door that stubbornly refuses to open and reveal Phil, there is one thing that shoves any other thought aside.

_What now?_

x

It is close to midnight as he steps up to the front door of Phil's house. He has never been here before and in a way he is surprised, disappointed almost that the house looks rather boring, totally normal, yet it is a house and how else should it look? Red stars all over the roof, a giant Pepsi sign on its front and _Best in the world_ on the name plate? He snorts at the mere idea.

A soft light illuminates the windows and the dimmed sounds he can hear through the door indicate that Phil is quite busy in there. Ever since the second Phil had stepped into his locker room, Stephen feels like his whole world has been turned upside down. It has left him shaken to the core and although he knows that all of it has happened, he still can't believe it. Phil has kissed him. Phil has... it was practically having sex... in a way.

A thud close to the door shakes him out of his thoughts. Involuntary he takes a step back, feeling as if being caught out and suddenly he feels also nervous, scared almost by his own courage to come here to find out what this is all about. But he can't go now and act like nothing ever happened.

It has happened. Definiteley. He can't just scratch it out of his memory like an ugly spot and... he doesn't want to. Phil has often enough been irrational, but this time it was more than that. _This_ goes far beyond being irrational.

And so he steps back to the door, lifts his hand and knocks, hoping that Phil will open the door, that he won't throw it close again after telling him to fuck off and because there is no reaction, he knocks again. And then he rings. Again there is a dimmed sound, now directly at the door and Stephen guesses that Phil looks through the door viewer, so he answers a stare he doesn't even really sees.

„Phil, please open the door. We need to talk," he calls, tilting his head a bit to the side while trying to keep a neutral expression on his face.

For a few seconds there is nothing.

Then: „Just go away, Farrelly."

The voice coming through the door sounds exhausted and defeated, causing an unfamiliar worry to stir in his guts.

„I'm not going anywhere," he replies, wiping a hand over his forehead.

Nothing.

„Brooks..."

Still nothing. And because he has no idea how to cope with the situation, he does the one thing he wants not to happen. He snaps.

Giving the door a kick, he roars: „Open the bloody door, Brooks, or _I'll_ open it, yer bastard!"

Only a second later he curses himself. With a sigh he puts his hand flat on the door, hanging his head.

„I'm sorry," he says gently and means it. „Please, Phil. _Please_."

Again there is nothing. As much as he wants to, he can't kick the door open and it is too cold to sit down and wait until the man comes out eventually, so he does the only thing he can do. He turns around and begins to walk towards his car.

The sound of the opening door is so quiet that he almost misses it. Almost.

Hesitantly he turns around again, finding the door ajar. But there was no Phil. The nervousness grows as he makes his way over to the house with his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants, shoulders tense and his lips pressed to a thin line. He is here for answers, no matter what answers he will get. Rolling his head he takes a deep breath and steps in.

Phil sits on the second last stair with is forearms bracing on his thighs, his hands dangling between his knees and his eyes are fixed on the floor. Stephen closes to door, before he walks closer to the other man, noticing that the closer he comes, the more his heart speeds up. Pulling his hands from his pockets, he crosses his arms over his chest and curls his hands to fists, willing himself to stay calm. Phil looks as exhausted as his voice has sounded through the door.

„What do you want, Farrelly?" he mutters, not looking up.

The humorless smile Stephen has seen back in his locker room is there on Phil's lips... still or again, it's not important. Fact is, it is a much too cold one to be healthy. The question though makes Stephen want to laugh in disbelief.

„Yer can't be serious, Brooks," he huffs. „Yer not really asking me tha?"

No eye-contact. No reply.

„I can't believe tha..." Stephen exhales sharply while tightening his fists. Annoyance begins to boil in his guts as he adds: „Why did yer come to me locker, huh? Why...? Phil, yer..."

There, he can't even say it aloud. The humorless smile on the other man's face becomes something that might be supposed to be a grin but he looks very much like he's baring his teeth.

„It's not important."

The reply is not quite a huff, nor a snort or a sigh. It is an odd mixture of it.

„Fuck yes, it is!" Stephen snaps and his hands fall to his side, still clenched.

„No, it isn't, Farrelly. Not anymore," Phil states monotone. „I'm leaving and no one will know about it. And now you should go and forget the whole thing."

„Forget...?" A whisper, wrapped up in utter disbelief. „Yer are... yer are nuts! What the fuck goes on in tha crazy mind of yer's huh?! _Forget_? _The hell_ I can forget tha a man has given me a hand-job!"

A chuckle, low and mirthless.

„You seemed to enjoy it."

„Tha's not the point! I want to fucking know why the hell yer did tha!" he thunders, closing the short distance between them to grab the other man by the collar, hauling him up until they are nose to nose. „Spill it!" he hisses and gives him a rough shake, trying hard to ignore how his heart hammers against his chest and he isn't sure if his heart is pounding like this out of anger or out of being scared about the answer... or because Phil is so close.

„You should go, Stephen," Phil says just above a whisper and the combination of the use of his first name, the way the words are spoken and the lack of resistance Phil is showing causes Stephen's breath to catch in his throat.

Something shifts in the depths of those green eyes, revealing a sadness, thick and heavy and Stephen lets go of him, reaching up to... he doesn't know, maybe to soothe the sadness away... but he stops himself at the last moment and backs away instead.

„I just want to understand it, Phil. I..."

He falls silent. Hopes for an explanation. And he knows by the look on the other man's face that he will get none.

„Look, you should go and let... _it_... be a thing of the past. Maybe you can't forget it, but at least you won't be reminded of it every time you see me," Phil says, dropping his gaze to the floor. „I quit and I'm not coming back."

„I stopped counting how often yer have said tha in the past, Brooks."

The raven haired man blinks once, furrows his brows and smiles again, a smile that is real... but it's heavy with the sadness that show in his eyes.

„I sold the house and... I'm going back to Chicago."

The funny thing about this very moment is, that Stephen finally knows how a schizo must feel, because here is a really pissed Stephen who is actually happy to hear that. But there is also a confused Stephen who still isn't sure how to feel about the whole thing. And not to forget about the overwhelmed Stephen who stands hidden behind all those other Stephen's, totally scared. And the Stephen who feels... sorry... to hear that Phil leaves, one-way to Chicago and out of his life.

Too many Stephen's...

He wants to say something neutral to defuse the situation a little, but what comes out is: „Oh, and giving me a hand-job was on yer bucket-list of what to do when quitting yer job? A random point somewhere between selling the house and packing yer stuff? Huh?!"

Before he even realizes what he's doing, his hand is back on Phil's tee, fingers twisting into the fabric to pull him close again and somewhere in is utterly confused mind he wonders if he just spat those words right into the other man's face to get a familiar reaction from him. A tart, snarky comeback. Something _Punk-like_, because the lack of biting comments is unsettling.

Phil's eyes are wide, but not because he's afraid, shocked or surprised. It's a completely different emotion and it confuses Stephen even more.

„You just can't let it be, huh? Okay then," Phil whispers and thin lines of sorrow appear on his face. „I came to you because there is something every time I touch you or you touch me, Stephen. It's like a weird kind of attraction. I feel it and it fucking haunts me and after leaving Vince's bureau I... I don't know. I thought that I need to do something about it and since I won't come back, it seemed like the best moment to..."

Stephen stares at him, stares into those green eyes in bewilderment, he knows that, but he can't _not_ stare. He hears what Phil says, but his mind once again refuses to accept it. And he has run out of words to describe how he feels.

„Don't look at me like that. You shouldn't ask for the truth if you can't stomach it," Phil tries to snap, but it's very much audible that he isn't really pissed. „Maybe you're right and I'm nuts. Maybe even weird, sick or pervert. Whatever. I can't make it undone."

With that he settles a hand on Stephen's and peels it off his shirt, not meeting much resistance and Stephen wills himself so very hard to ignore the warm scent of sandalwood that fills his nostrils, now that Phil is so close again... now, that his mind is filled with words which are shocking, yet making him _think_. And he also tries to ignore his running heart, the tingling he feels at the other man's touch. He's shocked about himself...

„I want you to go now," Phil mutters as he steps away. „It's late and I gotta get up early."

With that Phil turns around and walks up the stairs, leaving him behind. It takes a moment in which his tongue seems to be glued to the roof of his mouth and his lips just won't let even one word pass, a long moment until he can shake the stupor off and when he eventually finds his voice again, the other man has already reached the top of the stairs.

„Phil..." he calls, uncertainty heavily lacing into the name, but he falls silent because he has no idea what to say.

„You wanted an answer and you got it," Phil replies wearily, without looking back to him. „Just go."

With that he vanishes out of Stephen's view. A thud as a door is closed. And then... silence. Torn between following him and leaving, he keeps gazing into the darkness of the upper corridor for a while, before his feet carry him out of the house eventually, back to his car where he slips onto the driver's seat and he realizes that his hands are trembling. He grabs the steering wheel tightly to stop it.

Half an hour? An hour? Longer? He has no idea how long he sits there while the weight of his utterly confused emotions weigh down on him, making it hard to breathe... to think...

When he looks back to the house long after he has left it, the windows are dark, making it look dead. Empty.

With a shuddering sigh he starts the car eventually, thinking that he has no fucking idea what to do now. Again...


	2. Chapter 2

Not quite one of the most popular stories I've posted here, but I'm continuing it nevertheless ;3

I want to thank Corkie41, Jinx302 and Moxie Steele for leaving a review! Kisses and hugs for you!

* * *

He sits in the cafeteria, stares at his phone for minutes now although he knows is futile to do so and if he his honest with himself, he doesn't even know why he wants it to be _not_ futile at all. He should be happy that his life is back to normal again. As normal as it can be.

Only that he is _not_ happy and that leaves the question _why_.

Thinking back to that night it seems somehow surreal, yet real enough that he still can feel Phil's lips, his hands and it still shocks him as much... as he wants to feel it again. And _that_... is the most shocking thing. Why does he want to feel it again? A man kissing, touching him?

What the hell?!

_I came to you because there is something every time I touch you or you touch me, Stephen. It's like a weird kind of attraction._

Phil's words have shocked him, haunted him, made him think... and those words scare the shit out of him, because the more he thinks about it, the more he becomes aware that... that he felt it, too. That something. Feels it, every time his mind latches on to moments they have touched.

I'm not gay. That's what he tells himself every day, over and over again ever since. _I am not gay._

He isn't. He likes boobs, round, firm asses, petite frames with nice and soft curves. Not hard muscles, broad shoulders, rough beard stubbles. He doesn't like low, manly voices breathing his name in a most sensual way right into his ear. He doesn't like the scent of sandalwood filling his mind or having hands on him that answer him with a strength equally to his own.

Hands that can touch so tenderly that it causes a sweet ache deep within his chest...

Woah, wait! Fuck... fuck, _no_! He. Is. Not. Gay.

A sigh passes his lips as he pinches the bridge of his nose. The screen of his phone is dark again but as he wipes a finger over it, it lightens up. And shows nothing but his homescreen. No message.

For a brief moment his gaze swipes through the room, finding the familiar faces of his co-workers there and it's a picture he has seen uncountable times, a picture that is perfectly normal. Only that he can't get rid of the odd feeling that something is missing. Yet it isn't really a surprise, is it? Since he _knows_ that something... or rather someone... is missing.

The first day after... that night... Stephen been utterly confused about... it. He had been lying in his bed for minutes after waking up, staring into nothing while his thoughts whirled and his mind struggled to process, to understand what has happened. And then he began to laugh, because, no way, things like that don't happen. And _then_ he almost choked on his laughter, because, fuck, it _has_ happened. While his body had reacted immediately as the memories came back all too vivid, his head refused to accept he facts, causing his mind to switch to autopilot.

Day two hadn't been any better.

On day three he had been standing in his kitchen, holding a Pepsi in hand and after gazing at the Pepsi logo for a long moment, he had to sit down as his mind suddenly admitted and accepted that, yes, it has happened and yes, he had enjoyed... it. It had been good that it was his day off, because for the rest of it all he had been able to do was sitting around, thinking and fighting with himself.

On day four he woke up around five a.m. and because he couldn't stand it any longer, he got up and headed to Phil's house. He needed to talk to him again and no way Phil had really left, he still didn't believe it. And so he knocked, rang the bell and called until the door had been opened, revealing... a really pissed stranger.

With another sigh he looks back down on his cell, feeling a cold and queazy something run down his spine, the one he feels every time he thinks the words. Phil is gone. He's _really_ gone.

That was two days ago. And although he has spent the past days with being confused, shocked, scared and... there are so many more emotions which had crashed down on him and still threaten to suffocate him under their weight... he isn't... disgusted. Being disgusted would be the normal reaction, right? Right.

Yesterday he found a message on Twitter from Phil, not directed at anyone in particular.

_- The moment when you wish your life to be a computer game so you can go back to the last savepoint. -_

No, it hadn't been directed at anyone in particular, but it was pretty obvious what he had meant with it and surprisingly enough it... stung. And before he had known what he was doing, Stephen sent a message, too... at no one in particular...

_- The moment when someone dares to turn your life upside down and then runs away just like that. -_

Okay, not very dipomatic. Actually he shouldn't be surprised that there isn't a message on his phone. In fact Phil hadn't texted anything at all afterwards...

"Someone's brooding, huh?" a low voice behind him says and makes him jump.

A second later John sits down on the chair beside him, seeking his his eyes and Stephen meets him with a forced little smile.

"A bit," he replies.

An understatement and he knows that John knows it, too.

"What happened?"

Stephen snorts and shakes his head. Huh, what happened...

"Not what. Rather who," he mutters and drops his gaze back to his phone.

If there is anyone he can talk with about his Phil-problem... at least about the PG version... then it is John. Because John knows first hand how it feels to be with another man and not being gay.

After a moment of quietness he adds: "Phil."

There is no need to look at the other man again, he can feel the surprised look.

"Phil, as in Phil Brooks?" John asks then slowly.

Stephen nods and sighs for the umpteenth time.

"Wanna talk about it?" John says a bit quieter now.

Stephen nods again. And John waits while he thinks about how to start. The thing is... he has no idea how to put... it... was has happened... and how he's feeling... into words.

"How did yer and Randy...? I mean..." he murmurs, frowning. He has no idea why he's asking this now... well, maybe because he tries to find out what he's feeling... "How did yer know tha... Fuck, I mean, how did it happen?"

Now he meets the other man's gaze and finds mild amusement, a gentle smile and a soft glow in his eyes.

"Oh, uhm... we were drunk and one night we fooled around, then we fought over something stupid I don't even remember and the next thing I knew was that we were tearing the clothes of each other and..." John explaines but trails off then, falling silent for a second. He laughs softly before he continues: "The next morning I wanted to talk to him about it. He freaked and punched me right in the face and ran away. For two days I sat at home, thinking. I went to his place then and told him that we need to talk about it and before he could punch me again, I kissed the dear life out of him. He threw me out. Another day later I found him at my door. Ever since we're together. I guess somehow there has always been something between us, you know? More that only friendship. An attraction, a special chemistry..."

Again he falls silent and between the noise in the room there is suddenly a very unique sound raising from all the other sounds, one that puts a smile on John's face... a smile full of undisguised love. It is Randy's voice and as Stephen gazes over to Randy, he finds him smiling back at John with the same love.

There is a touch on his forearm, causing him to stiffen briefly.

"Stephen... why did you ask that?" John murmurs as he leans closer. "You don't need to tell me what has happened, but maybe I can help?"

This is John, one of the few persons he knows who he can trust blindly. Still, the moment he says it aloud it's not a secret anymore. He can't make it unsaid and that's frightening. But not to know what to do and be alone with this shit isn't any better. Shooting the man beside him a quick glance he nods again, more to himself than to John and tries to ignore the way his hair stand on end at the thought that he is about to spill it.

"Phil... came to me locker room after he quit and..." he slowly and very quietly admits. PG-version, he reminds himself, PG-version. His voice is even quieter if possible as he adds: "... and he... we... _he_... gosh..." Wonderful, here he sits, being reduced to a stammering idiot, yet from the corner of his eyes he sees a subtle change in the expression on John's face, telling him that the other man has a close idea to what has happened. "And he left me standing there like an idiot. I... I went to his house tha night and he told me something about a weird attraction he feels when we touch and then he sent me away. And now he's gone and I'm... I don't know..."

There, he has said it. And it makes everything even more... real. With a muttered _fuck_ he's bracing his elbows on the table, hides his face in his hands and takes a shuddering breath. The hand that's settling on his shoulder, squeezing it gently, is comforting, encouraging and for the first time in days he doesn't feel alone.

"You feel that attraction, too, and now you're confused about it and scared as hell."

Not a question but a statement and all Stephen brings over his lips is a whispered _yes_. The hand moves from his shoulder to the back of his neck.

"You should go to him and talk things out, because this is something you can't just forget about. I know it's not easy but…"

"Fuck, no, it's not easy!" Stephen cuts him off, finally coming out of his hiding place behind his hands. "He hasn't left a note with his adress and a _meet me there_ on it and I don't think he wants talk to me anyway. We had the chance back at his place, but instead he sent me away!"

His voice raises at the last words, becoming sharper with a hurt note lying in them and he snaps his mouth shut as a few of his co-workers turn around to him, gazing at him with a frown. John's hand has dropped to the table, but he doesn't seem to take the biting tone personally.

"Ever lost a thought about that he might be as shocked about what has happened as you are? Maybe he sits alone at home this very moment, scared and feeling lost?"

Pressing his lips to a thin line, Stephen looks away and tries hard to push the image of a sad, lonely Phil aside who is waiting for him, because he knows it's not like that. Phil is not waiting for him. Why should he?

"The only thing you should be sure about if you decide to go to him is… if you want to give this thing between you a chance if he wants it, too."

His head whips around at that comment, eyes wide as he hisses: "I'm not gay!"

John shrugs his shoulders.

"Neither are Randy nor I, yet we are together. And believe me, the mere idea of being with another man than Randy makes me feel sick to the stomach," John replies quietly, giving him a _it's okay_-smile. "You can snap at me if it makes you feel better, I don't mind. I know how hard this is. We're friend's, Stephen, and I just want to help you. You're not alone, okay? I'm gonna be there when you need me."

It is Randy who saves Stephen from once again not knowing what to say as he steps up to them and kisses John. And no one cares. It's nothing new to see them kiss, since they've never made their relationship a secret, but his view on it had changed now and somehow it is calming to _realize_ that being with a man is no big deal.

With a crooked smile he watches them for a moment an as they eventually emerge from their very own bubble of love, he says: "I guess I shouldn't keep yer away from yer babe any longer. Thanks, John. And… I'm sorry."

John winks at him and pats his arm. And then they are gone. He stares after them, even long after they have vanished through the door and in a way he feels better, now that he has talked about it, knowing he isn't alone anymore. Yet…

What if… this weird attraction is… more?

The thought paralyzes him long minutes and he has no iea how long he's been sitting like this as his cell suddenly dances on the table, shaking him out of it and it takes him a second until he gets that it's a message. From John. He blinks once, twice. An address. In Chicago.

_Phil's_ address.

Another message follows.

_- Just in case you need it. -_

His fingers close tighter around his cell as his eyes trail over the address again and again and while he does that, a voice deep within him gets louder, telling him that there is only one real option.

He needs a few days off.

On his way to Vince's office he carefully stores the address in his phone, hoping that this won't end up in a disaster.

x

Walking into the building, his eyes scan the lobby for the front desk. The lady behind it tells him that Mr. Brooks isn't at home at the moment and no, he hasn't said when he will be back.

Fuck.

The lobby is big and quiet as he sits in the waiting area, hoping that Phil hasn't decided to do a short trip. But maybe he would have told the lady that if he wouldn't be back in a few days? He hopes so.

He has hoped that Phil is at home, because then he wouldn't even more time now to think about the various scenarios that are replaying in his head. He's nervous, anxious. What if Phil doesn't give him the chance to say even one word? And there is a lot he needs to tell Phil.

First of all he wants to tell him that he isn't angry. He really isn't.

There are new questions though. Like, what if this attraction between them is more from his side, but has only been curiousity from Phil's?

Scrubbing his hands through his face he tells himself to stop thinking for a moment. The brooding over the past days and on his way here has been enough and his head is already hurting from it and he has already prepared a speech, hasn't he? No need to think imself to death.

His hands drop to his legs and he sighs wearily, but that sigh gets stuck in his throat as he sees Phil walk into the lobby, a grocery bag in his arms and gazing on his cell, obviously totally lost in his thoughts. Phil doesn't notice him as he passes him on his way to the elevators. Taking a deep breath Stephen grabs his stuff and follows him.

Phil is still gazing at his phone as he stands there, waiting for the elevator and for a second or two Stephen just stands behind him, trying to calm his heart down, that jumps in his chest.

"Phil," he says eventually, very quietly and for a second or two there is no reaction.

He can see the very second the word… and probably his voice… sinks in. The other man stiffens, before the hand holding the cell drops to his side. A bitter and with disbelief coated little chuckle if puffed.

"We need to talk," Stephen adds as quietly.

"I don't think so, Farrelly."

His fingers itch to grab his shoulder and turn him around. He doesn't though.

"Please, I…" he says instead but trails off as two women come to stand beside them.

The elevator doors open and the two women get in but just as Phil wants to step in, too, Stephen grabs a handful of his shirt and holds him back, causing Phil to finally turn around to him. His hand is slapped away. It's not the slap that hurts, but the gesutre itself.

"What is your fucking problem, Farrelly?!" he hisses, taking a step back to hit the elevator button. "I told you this at the house and I'm telling you this again now: I want you to go!"

"Phil…"

"Shut the _fuck_ up!"

Shifting his stance, Stephen crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head a bit to the side, furrowing his brows as he realizes… he won't be able to reel his speech. Phil won't let him do it. He should have known it, shouldn't he?

The elevator doors opens again with a soft ping and Stephen watches as Phil takes a few steps backwards into it and hits a button, never leaving him out of sight and just as the doors are about to close… Stephen slips in, too.

Ignoring the frankly pissed glare from the other man, he quickly says before Phil can speak again: "I want to find out who yer are."

The words surprise himself, but, yeah, he _wants_ to find out who Phil Brooks it. The real person behind that snarky façade. A shadow casts over those green eyes which he knows can be so… beautiful. Deep green orbs with a soft glow lying in their depths… but now those eyes are guarded, letting only a dull angeriness pass.

"_No_."

Phil backs away immediately as he takes a step closer and Stephen's not sure what he really has expected how this whole let's-talk-about-it-thing would go, but what he knows is that he wants Phil to agree to it, not to make him angry. And right now the other man obviously feels crowded and so he steps away from him again, raises his hands a bit with his palms turned up in a peace-offering.

"Phil… please, give me a few days…" he says softly, begging almost, but the shadows over the green eyes darkens even more.

"Fuck, no, not even five minutes!" Snapped, the tone almost biting enough to cause a bodily ache. "And now, fuck off before I call someone who kicks you out!"

Okay, so this doesn't work. The idea that pops up in his mind is a pretty daft one, but he's willed to grasp at straws here. With a bitter smile on his face, Stephen hits the stop-button. With a jolt the elevator comes to an abrupt stop.

Incredulous quietness follows.

Then: "Are you nuts?!"

Leaning back against the wall of the elevator, Stephen crosses his arms over his chest again, sticks his chin out defiantly and huffs: "Yer want to call someone to kick me out, Brooks? Go ahead!"

Quiteness again but not for long.

There is a sudden buzzing coming from a speaker, before a voice asks: "Do you need help, sir?"

Although Phil does his best to hold his guarded expression up, Stephen can see various emotions fleet through his eyes. One of them stays. Determination. And it unsettles him that he doesn't know what it means.

"No, we don't need help. Sorry, we accidently hit the button. Thank you," Phil says slowly and the voice coming from the speaker falls silent.

Somehow the fact that Phil hasn't asked for someone to come and kick an unwanted visitor out doesn't help a bit to make him feel more confident. A moment later there is another jolt and the elevator continues its way up.

"It doesn't change anything, Farrelly. I want you to go."

The sharp note has left the other man's voice, Stephen notices, and suddenly he sounds as weary as he feels himself. Beaten and tired and maybe he's only imagining it, but it also sounds a bit… lost.

"Why?"

The elevator stops again as it reaches the right floor. The doors part.

"Because I don't want to talk about it," Phil mutters as he walks out. "I'm not even sure if I like you."

He keeps walking without another look back. After a second of hesitation Stephen follows him, trying not to take the other man's last sentence personally, doing his best to ignore the sting it causes.

"Then yer shouldn't have started this," he replies quietly as he keeps following him.

A huff.

"It wasn't _supposed_ to be a _start_," Phil snaps… but it lacks on intensity. "And end, that's what it should have been, but you just won't get that into that thick head of yours, you goddamn idiot."

"An end? How can what yer did be an end? Usually things start with something like tha!"

He almost bumps into Phil as he suddenly stops walking, producing a key from his pocket and with a sigh he opens a door Stephen hasn't even noticed they are standing in front of.

"Yeah, an end. I decided to move back to Chicago, sold my house, quit my job and somehow it felt like I need to act on that attraction towards you. A one-time thing, to finally _end_ it." He speaks very hushed now and as he continues, Stephen notices how the other man's fingers grip the doorhandle tightly. "Stephen… why would you want to get to know me better?"

Soft. Phil's voice is soft and he doesn't miss a certain shy note in it and the unfamiliar way it sounds actually causes a funny tingle in his belly, bringing a slight dizziness along. It leaves him a bit unsteady on his feet and he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans to hide a light trembling. Funny, he thinks, that he has he has been ridiculously calm the whole time and now, all of a sudden, his heart begins to pound hard and he finds himself all scared again. But Phil had called him with his given name for the first time ever since their converstation has started and he is sure he can see the soft glow in his eyes… the one he's seen back at his locker room. And maybe Phil feels it, because he drops his gaze to the floor, turning his head a bit to the side.

"Because I feel it, too, okay? I feel tha attraction, too, and I can't and I don't want to ignore all this," Stephen says just above a whisper as he inches a bit closer very carefully, not wanting to make him feel crowded again. "What are yer afraid of? Tha yer might find out tha yer actually like me?"

Silence.

Then a whispered: "Yeah…"

His heart trips. He's not sure what hurts more: the thought that Phil might not like him or… that he is afraid to find out that he _does_ like him but _doesn't_ _want_ to like him. It doesn't matter, because either way… it hurts.

"Would tha be so bad?"

He can't help the disappointment which is lacing into his voice, the slightly hurt tone that is coating his words and Phil gazes up to him, a tiny and sad smile on his lips as he lets go of the door and lifts his hand up as if he wants to touch Stephen. But he doesn't. Instead it falls to his side, clenched to a fist.

"It would make everything too goddamn complicate. If I could make things undone I would do it, Stephen, for both our sakes," he says hollowly and the tiny, sad smile stretches to a deeply bitter one. "I'm sorry…"

Stephen wants to say something to stop him as he retreates into the apartement , wants to hold him back, but he is frozen to the spot and the words get stuck in his throat. And then the door closes and he is alone on the corridor, confused, shaken. After a long moment he forces one word over his lips.

Phil's name.

A question, a plea… remaining unanswered…


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys :)

Thanks lilasskickersmom, LegacyChick, .Win12, Jinx302 and Angel for leaving a review!

LegacyChick: Yeah, I know :3 but the plot wouldn't have worked out otherwise and not everyone in here is not gay ;)

Have fun!

* * *

It is already getting dark as he walks out of the building after having been waiting in front of the closed door to Phil's apartment for about half an hour. The first ten minutes he had tried to make him open the door by calling his name, almost begging him to fucking open it, accompanied by knocking. The next ten minutes he had been sitting beside the door, calling the other man's name every once in a while. The last ten minute now he had just been sitting there in silence. Thinking.

And all the time he has been waiting. Hoping. For something that is not going to happen. He understands it now, how naïve this all has been.

Slowly he walks down the stairs to the sidewalk, where he comes to stand. His holdall slip from his fingers, dropping to the ground with a thud and with something between a sigh and a groan he scrubs his hands through his face, before his hands fall to his sides again, clenching to fists for a seconds before they simply hang lifelessly there. His shoulders slump, while his mind races and his eyes stare down the street, yet into nothing.

Defeated. It is how he feels. It is what he actually is, because Phil is up there in his apartment, locking himself away from the shit he has kicked off and maybe it's the heavy disappointment that speaks now, but Stephen thinks that it is so very much like Phil to do this, be like this. At least the Phil he has known all those years.

And maybe, just mabye the disappointment he feels is so heavy because after that night, after he has seen something in the depths of those green eyes, he has been sure there is another Phil hidden behind all this.

And now? A good question, isn't it? Now what? Now… nothing. Time to go.

Gazing from the street up to the sky, he thinks that he should get the next taxi and head for the airport, make sure he'll be on the next flight home or at least get himself a hotel room for the night. He should. But somehow his feet refuse to move and his mind still does futile somersaults to find a goddamn way to coax Phil out of his shell and his heart… his heart tells him that he can't leave now, because it wants to stay. It's as simple as that. His heart _wants_ to stay here.

Closing his eyes he dips his head forward with a bitter sigh, feeling fucking helpless because he has no idea what to do now.

"One night."

The sudden voice close behind him causes his eyes to snap open again. He knows this is Phil standing there, but he actually can't believe it. Ridiculously enough he is scared that if he moves now, Phil might retreat again or… whatever… but he wills himself to straighten up again, keeping his gaze fixed on the street. And while he does that, Phil appears beside him with his arms crossed over his chest. From the corner of his eye he sees the other man gaze down the street.

"One night, Farrelly," Phil repeats as he turns his head back to gaze at the street right in front of them, his voice carefully neutral. "Under my terms. You don't touch me and if I tell you to shut up, you gonna_ shut up_ and if you piss me off, I'm gonna kick you out, no matter if it's in one hour or in the middle of the night. I want you out tomorrow by noon. I'm not going to discuss about this."

In the following silence Stephen tries hard to keep on breathing as the words sink into his racing mind, along with the fact that Phil is really standing there, beside him.

_Phil is here. _

He knows his hands are trembling, but he can't stop it. Just as he can't stop his heart from jumping in his chest. One night. After all the pushing, biting him away, Phil really agrees to let him stay…

He feels an odd tingle at the base of his skull as Phil turns his head again, this time gazing at him and after a second of hesitation, Stephen dares to meet his gaze and the tingle intensifies as he finds a calm, neutral face but those eyes, they are filled with emotions but here on the street is neither the right place, nor the right moment to try reading them. He tries himself on a smile, but it dies before it can be called one.

"Thanks, Phil," Stephen finally replies quietly and watches as the other man's lips tighten to a thin line.

Phil looks at him like this for a long moment, before he turns away and starts walking up the stairs, his arms dropping to his side and maybe Stephen is just imagining things, but he could swear Phil's hands are trembling, too.

"I'm not sure if this is something you should thank me for," Phil says with the same neutral voice as before, not gazing back nor waiting if Stephen actually follows.

But Stephen does follow him and with every step his heart pounds harder against his chest…

Not even ten minutes later he stands beside the couch in Phil's living room, arranging a pillow and a blanket on it which Phil has handed him silently. In fact Phil hasn't said a word since the moment in front of the building. Letting his eyes roam the room, he is surprised that it doesn't seem to be as chaotic as he would have expected it to be. It's sparsley furnished and clearly arranged, with only few Baseball items on the wall and some comics neatly lying on a low sideboard. Just enough to see whose apartment this is, but not too much.

A little indecisive… or rather a little scared… he walks over to a window, gazing down on the slowly darkening, yet colorful illuminated city and as he takes in the lively image, he thinks that it's still unbelievable that he is really here with Phil. He's not sure how to approach the subject though, if he should just say what lies heavy on his heart or… Well, Phil has allowed him to stay for a night but that doesn't automatically mean that he'll agree to talk things out.

Whatever. He's here now and he has only one night to… do something.

Nodding to himself he takes a deep breath, exhaling it sharply in an attempt to breathe the tension he feels away. His heart though is still jumping, has the whole time, persistent enough that there is a good chance that he'll have a heart attack before the night is over.

His feet carry him over to the kitchen where Phil is, standing there in shirt and shorts and barefooted, wearing an apron and somehow he looks… cute. He's preparing the dinner in utter silence and lost in his thoughts, measured by the absentminded expression on his face, but as Stephen steps into the room, he stops briefly, tenses even, before he resumes his task.

"Vegetarian chili," Phil says then without looing up to him. "There are flyers over there on the table if you want something else. Asian and Italian food."

Stephen's slow approach ends two meters away from the other man.

"Vegetarian chili is perfect," he replies quietly and thinks that maybe he should try to defuse the tension between them a little, and thus the tension he feels himself, before bringing up the serious topics. "Uhm, can I help yer?"

Slowing his motions down, Phil takes a look around… carefully avoiding Stephen's eyes… shrugs his shoulders and wipes his hands on the apron before digging in a drawer to retrieve a chopping board and a knife.

"You can chop the peppers," he says while handing board and knife over to Stephen.

And finally Phil meets his gaze, those green eyes still brimming with emotions that still don't break through the calm, neutral expression, but as Stephen gives him a soft smile, he can see the shadow of a smile ghost aroung Phil's lips, too. It's nice. It feels good to see it, because although it's barely there, it's a real one.

For a while they work in silence, both lost in their thoughts. It's the loud clang of a knife falling to the tiled floor that causes him to flinch hard and the low, pained groan that follows which makes him close the distance to Phil with one big stride, makes him forget about the do-not-touch-me-term. He remembers it though the very moment he takes hold of the other man's bloody hand, because it's yanked away immediately.

"I said don't touch me, Farrelly!" Phil snaps, almost yells as he takes a step back.

There is blood on the counter, on the floor and runs in thin lines through the fingers which are tightly closed around the injured thumb, dripping from Phil's hands. With another pained groan Phil closes his eyes and holds his hands close to his body, slightly hunching forward. Nodding to himself, Stephen grabs a kitchen towel and steps up to Phil, again taking hold of the injured hand and this time he holds it too tight to be pulled away again.

"Take your paw off, you…"

Stephen loosens his hold a little, lifts the other man's hand gently and there is surprisingly few resistance as he does.

Holding the towel under it he murmurs: "Don't be ridiculous, Phil. Yer just chopped half of yer thumb off. Let me take care of tha."

A certain wariness is suddenly there, radiating from the other man in tiny, almost graspable waves as he stands there in a stiff go-away-fom-me-posture, although he isn't trying to pull his hand away again. At least not yet. And despite the stiff posture Stephen takes the fact that there is no yelling at him to leave as a rather good sign.

"Got something to fix tha up?" he asks, now loosening his hold completely to cradle the sore hand in his instead.

A barely noticable twitch in the other man's arms tells him that he's not quite comfortable with this kind of touch, yet the hand stays in his.

_Good,_ he thinks, _a first step._

"Bathroom," Phil replies eventually, quietly… shy almost… and the green eyes fix on some invisible spot on the floor.

They leave an unsteady track of red blotches on the floor on their way to the bathroom, where Stephen tells Phil to rinse his thumb, hearing muttered curses and hisses as the other man does how he's been told. While digging through the bathroom cabinet, his eyes fall on a bunch of herbal cold medicine which seems to be in use and as he turns back with dressing material in his hands, he's greeted by a seriously deep cut and a very pale Phil.

"Yer should let a doc have a look at this…" he says after clearing his throat, but Phil only shakes his head no, pointedly not looking at his ruined thumb.

"Just wrap some mull around it and I'll be fine."

Frowning Stephen watches as Phil sways a bit and leans on the sink for support and he wonders if it's because of filleted thumb or maybe because he's also hatching a cold. Gently he takes hold of an upper arm he knows he shouldn't touch, steering its slightly unwilling owner backwards to the tub.

"Sit down before yer keel over," he mutters, pushing Phil down gingerly until he sits on the rim and with an inaudible sigh he kneels down in front of the stubborn man.

Luckily the bleeding has lessened, he notices as he examines the sore hand and it is now that he feels a real, serious worry bubble in his chest as he wraps the thumb up in a thick layer of mull, very-very carefully so as not to cause Phil more pain. He's glancing up every once in a while, searching for any signs of increasing discomfort on the still pale face, but the level seems to stay the same.

"You having a cold?" he asks then quietly, receiving a raised eyebrow in answer. "The medicine." With his head he motions over to the bunch of medicine in the cabinet.

"None of you business, Farrelly."

A curt reply and, well, Phil is back at calling him with his last name, like a verbal push. He knows Phil can push hard, much harder than just calling people by theirlast name and so he simply ignores it.

"I'm just worried, Phil."

A snort. He feels the hand he's holding being pulled back, but he doesn't let go. He's not done yet and after a moment he feels the pulling stop. He smoothes a crease out of the bandage, before continuing his task.

"Yer shouldn't run around barefooted and in shorts if yer are."

"Who are you? My mom?" Phil huffs.

Wrapping the last bit of mull around the other man's wrist, he secures the bandage with a tape, tilting his head a bit to the side as he meets the green eyes. The hand is still cradled in his own as he does. He doesn't want to let go, not yet.

"I meant it, Phil. I'm worried about yer."

He _is_ worried, much, and he doesn't want hide it. In fact he wills it to show up on his face, to shine in his eyes. Even wills it through his touch. And then the situation shifts suddenly, slips and falls into the direction it was supposed to go anyway, but now Stephen isn't sure anymore if it is the right moment… now.

"Gosh, how naïve can a grown man be…? How can you be worried about me when you don't even know me? Stephen, you… I think you're misjudging the situation," Phil begins slowly and in his voice lies a heavy, held back sigh. "The attraction you feel isn't a real attraction. I mean, you've never been attracted to a man before, have you?"

Hesitantly Stephen shakes his head no, but adds: "But obviously it's different with yer. I've spent days telling meself tha I'm not gay but… maybe I've been wrong."

There, he has said it aloud and his heart does a double-step. And then, oddly enough… it calms down.

"Oh, yeah, right. You're gay." The sigh that has been held back now escaped Phil's lips, a heavy breath full of… helplessness. "No. No, you're not. You just _think_ you're being attracted to me because you're… confused about what has happened, or curious maybe."

"Yeah, yer are right, I'm confused, but tha doesn't mean tha I'm imagining things," Stephen replies softly. "What about yer? What the hell makes yer come to me locker and…"

To Stephen's surprise Phil lays his good hand on his, not to peel it off but to… just to lie there and it makes him fall quiet. Or maybe it's the torn expression on the other man's face that takes his voice away from him.

"I felt an attraction, yeah. I couldn't file it, so I had to find out what it is. But I'm…" Phil begins, sighs then, before he looks him straight in the eyes. "It's not the first time I've been with a man. But you? I guess for you it has been the first time and it simply wasn't fair to you. I know that, but I can't make it undone. And when I said that I don't even know if I like you, I meant it. I don't know you and honestly, I don't want to change that, because if I find out that I like you, it will only complicate everything. And I don't want a complication like you in my life."

The last two sentences are like a slap to the face but he's stronger than that and he's not gonna back down because of some harsh words. Running his thumb over the inside of the bandaged wrist, he feels the tiniest of twitches again at the tender touch and again there is no yelling him to leave, no pulling the hand out of his hold. Only that tiny, so tiny twitch.

Go away he _says_… still there are signs, telling Stephen to stay here. And he decides to listen to those signs, not the words.

"No, it wasn't fair. And really, I could have done without it, because yer turned me world upside down with it, but to be honest… I liked it." He can feel his cheeks begin to heat up, just as his ears and he knows that with the heat comes a certain red tinge, knows that, yes, it's already there because there is a brief shift in Phil's expression, giving way to traitorous, mild amusement and a nice softness, even it's gone as fast as it has come. Willing himself not to look away, he adds: "And I don't imagine tha attraction, it is there. I want to get to know yer better, Phil. I really do. And maybe yer don't know if yer like me, but at least yer don't hate me, or I wouldn't be here now, would I?"

Phil says nothing, just gazes at him.

"And, yer know… I am already a complication in yer life, so yer can as well give it a chance and find out if yer like me or not. All I ask for is a chance."

He wants to smile at the man in front of him, an encouraging, trustworthy smile, but it's wiped away the second it touches his lips as Phil draws his hands back and crosses his arms over his chest… or rather wraps them around himself defensively.

"A chance?" Phil barks, his lips stretching to a bitter smile. "What do you expect? A relationship? A happily ever after?"

"I don't expect anything, Phil," he replies just above a whisper. "But if yer ask me then going out of this as friends wouldn't be that bad, would it?"

Stephen's hands drop to his own legs uselessly. His heart sinks, because here he has thought it's going quite good, that Phil slowly stops pushing him away and now? With a sigh he nods, getting up from were he is kneeling, notices how the other man's eyes look everwhere else than at him and sometimes it is better to walk out of a standoff to save the situation and so it's what he does.

"I'm gonna go get the chili done," he mutters and leaves the bathroom, hoping that if Phil has some minutes on his own to breathe and come down, he might stick his head out of his shell again…


	4. Chapter 4

I wanna thank BornToWin12 (sorry, FFnet refuses to save your nick with the dots in it), onyxcat34, Jinx302, Angel and peaches beaches for leaving a review! Love ya, guys!

* * *

Staring into the moonlit room, Stephen lies on the couch, blinking slowly. He's torn between figuring a way out how to lure Phil out of his shell again and trying not to think at all, but in the end he finds that once more… or rather still… his mind runs like a bullet train, unstoppable. With a low groan he turns onto his side and pulls the blanket up to his ears. The groan becomes a sigh.

He has come so far, far enough to lie here on Phil's couch and now it is again a closed door that is nothing more than a symbol for what Phil does the whole time. Shutting him out.

After that moment in the bathroom, after Phil had finally talked to him… he had been sure Phil would open up. And then he had been standing in the kitchen, getting the chili done, while waiting for Phil to finally follow him to the kitchen. But instead of coming to the kitchen, Phil had fled to his bedroom, locking the door.

Eventually the chili was done. Still no Phil.

Stephen had been standing at the locked door, knocking, calling Phil's name, sat there leaning against it for what might have been an hour. The door though stayed closed.

It is still closed. Locked.

Fucking déjà vu.

Stephen sighs once more. He has sighed so often over the past days that it feels like it has become his way of breathing. He wishes, really wishes he could get a glimpse of what is hidden behind those beautiful green eyes. It must be precious, stunning… and very, very fragile, measured by the way Phil is protecting it… with all his might…

There is a soft sound in the semi-darkness, the sound of a door being unlocked and opened very carefully. Hesitant, quiet steps. Stephen blinks once more, before he closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep. Whether the steps are coming closer or not, he can't make it out for a few very long seconds, until he realizes that yes, Phil approaches him.

Stephen fights hard to keep his breathing even and shallow as his heart begins to pound a little. The steps stop right in front of him, followed by a soft rustling. Phil is kneeling there now he guesses and wonders what has caused him to come here and… what, gaze at him? The other man is probably as confused as he is himself and maybe he tries to find answers, too.

It would be so much easier to find them together... Those words dance on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them down. And waits.

The feather light touch on his temple though surprises him, causes his heart to pound even more, maybe even hard enough that Phil might feel it, hear it. The touch becomes a bit bolder after a second or two, though infinitely gently as fingertips move, trailing along the side of his face and Stephen has no idea how he manages to keep his breathing calm, but it works. Somehow. Despite the tingling that suddenly runs down his spine. The touch moves further down, pushing the blanket back a little, wandering along his jaw and… over his lips. Halting for a moment. Fading then.

It costs him all his will not to just open his eyes now, because it feels like Phil… leaves…?

And then the touch is back, fingers sliding into his hair and it sends goosebumps all over his body. He hears a helpless little sigh. Again the touch fades.

And isn't it ridiculous how much he already misses it…?

Those gentle fingertips, touching the back of his hand then… causing even more goosebumps to flare… smoothing over it towards his slightly splayed fingers… slide between them…

There is a startled gasp as Stephen closes his fingers around Phil's in a tight hold, yet mindful of the sore thumb. For a moment the world seems to stand still, a long moment in which there is only utter silence, not even the faintest sound of breathing and maybe Phil really doesn't breathe… Stephen for sure isn't, waiting for the other man to… react.

Phil does react eventually, tries to pull his hand out of the unwanted hold, but Stephen doesn't let him, tightening his hold instead and stops him as he stands up to get away. Looking up, he stubbornly refuses to let go of Phil, seeks a gaze that is carefully avoided while the struggle goes on for seconds.

And then suddenly the struggle stops. Still avoiding eye contact, Phil kneels down again. His hand is tense in Stephen's, becomes even more tense as Stephen brushes his thumb over its back in a way that is supposed to be calming, soothing, but seems to make everything even worse instead. And so he stops.

"Why?" he asks quietly.

Still nothing but silence.

"I'm just trying to understand it."

Taking in the strained expression on the pale face, he waits for a response.

"Phil… talk to me. _Please_."

Nothing.

No, not nothing. The tiniest of twitches around those lips.

And then finally Phil speaks, his voice low, sounding somewhat worn out as he says: "What do you want me to say?"

Stephen wants to take that exhausted note out of the other man's voice, but he knows that Phil won't let him.

"How about what goes on in yer head? Give me a chance to understand yer."

Once again Phil does not answer and it's getting annoying, not only because Phil refuses to talk to him, no, mostly because there is this utterly stubborn and totally naïve part in Stephen that just can't stop hoping. A swift emotion crosses Phil's face and it's the hint Stephen has been waiting for.

"It's too late, isn't it?" he asks softly. "Yer _do_ like me and tha's the problem, huh?"

Brows furrow over closing eyes, almost as if Phil is in pain and maybe he does hurt. And Stephen realizes that… he's right. His heart trips.

"It doesn't matter," Phil replies eventually, hollow.

"It does, Phil," Stephen says as softly as before. "To me it does, because I do like yer."

He sees the other man flinch as if he has been struck by those words, as if they hurt him and because he doesn't want to give up, he adds: "I liked yer hands on me. Everywhere. And I liked yer kiss and I liked the feeling of holding yer in me arms. I don't care how cheesy this sounds or if I embarrass meself. It's what I feel. And I want more."

Guarded green eyes snap open at that, meeting open blue ones with a deeply wary expression.

"Don't tell me you want a dick shoved up your ass," Phil says, somewhere between scoffing and snapping.

Stephen gazes at in silence, receiving a bitter smirk in response.

"Why am I not surprised?"

Again, bitter. A huff follows.

"Phil," Stephen sighs. "There are more ways than tha to be together."

Laughter. Barked, mirthless.

"Are you too dump to understand it? There is no _being_ _together_," Phil hisses as he again tries to stand up and get away from him.

There isn't enough time to lose a single thought about what he's just doing as Stephen gives the hand he still holds a sharp tug and sits up in one fluid motion, catching Phil who, surprised by the forceful being pulled down, loses his balance and comes to half sit, half lie on the couch… and in Stephen's arm. Stephen, who grabs a fistful of unruly raven hair.

And kisses him.

It can't actually be called a real kiss. It is more an innocent lip on lip thing, but even more than the being pulled down, it is this tiny gesture which really makes Phil lose his _balance_. Completely.

Although it is not much, this barely-kiss, it's enough to make the hair on the back of Stephen's neck raise and leave a need for more.

Phil's free hand shoots up to Stephen's shoulder, clawing at it in an attempt to find a hold on it, digging into the thick muscles there… pushing him away... pulling him close… closer… _pushing him away_… and then Stephen feels the soft hair slip through his fingers and the hand out of his hold as the other man managed to free himself. He doesn't even try to stop Phil from retreating.

Two unsteady steps backwards. Three. Green eyes always fixed on him, wide eyes, shocked eyes. The heavily inked chest rises and falls quickly. Four steps. Phil brings a hand up to cover his mouth… and that hand doesn't wipe the kiss off. But in the pale light it looks like it's trembling a little. There is some unknown emotion flashing in those wide eyes, before it drowns in their depths.

For a moment they only gaze at each other in the half-light, Stephen looking up calm, while Phil stares down at him shocked and frankly pissed. And underneath…if he looks closely enough… he could swear a shadow of that something is still there…

Slowly Stephen stands up, watches as Phil backs off and so he lifts his hands a little, palms turned upwards in a silent peace-offering as he states: "I know yer don't want me to go."

And he knows that there's a begging note lying in it, begging that stubborn mule of a man to not lock that door between them again, but he doesn't care.

"You know _nothing_, Farrelly," Phil hisses, his hand dropping to his side and suddenly the anger fades, gives way to indifference. "Make sure you're out here before I wake up."

With that Phil turns around and goes back to his room, followed by Stephen who has a hard time not to start running and be the first one to reach the door to make sure it would stay unlocked. But he doesn't, only follows close behind.

"I want to stay with yer, Phil…"

Phil stops at the door, fingers tightly closed around the door knob. He stands there with his back to Stephen, sighs as he dips his head back and as Stephen reaches out to his shoulder without really touching it, there is the tiniest of twitches, as if he can feel the touch that isn't there.

"I don't give a shit about what you want, Farrelly," the raven haired mutters.

The door closes behind him, for the third time today leaving Stephen standing alone with his sorrow, wishes, hopes and desperation in front of a closed door. The sound of a key being turned in the lock seals it.

"Phil?" Stephen calls, waits. "Phil!" Again he waits, puts a hand on the wood of the door. "I'm sorry tha I kissed yer." No, no wait, that has come out wrong. "Uhm… no, actually I'm not sorry tha I kissed yer. But I shouldn't have forced meself on yer. I'm sorry, okay?" Silence. "Phil? Please open the door." Nothing. "Give me a chance. _Please_."

All he can hear through the door is the barely audible rustling of bedclothes and a quiet groan and then, nothing.

"Phil…"

One minute. Two. Still nothing.

With a sigh he leans his forehead against the door, willing the damn thing to jump open, but this is not a dream and thus no wonder happens, the door does not open. Pushing away from the door eventually he goes back to the couch, grabs the blanket and returns to the door where he sits down, leaning against the wall there, wrapped up in the blanket. After a moment of staring into nothing, he curls up in the corner between frame and wall and closes his eyes, although he isn't expecting to have much sleep tonight. If any at all.

But he can't keep his eyes closed for long and after a short while they open again, no matter how much he wants them to stay closed. And he stares. And stares. Stares. Into nothing. Again. Thinks. Tries not to though, but… he can't stop. What he has is a handful of jigsaw pieces which Phil has given him, by doing or not doing things, saying and not saying things. Gazes. Gestures. But no matter how he places those pieces, they just won't fit. Even when he just thinks that, yes, finally there are two pieces which match, he realizes that he's wrong. And there are still so many pieces missing…

No matter how hard he thinks, it all doesn't make sense. Not a bit. That kiss just a few minutes ago, it has been the perfect sum of what is going on between them. Being pushed away, being pulled closer… being pushed away. And in between all those confusing good feelings. But, fuck, he shouldn't have kissed him. A fucking knee-jerk reaction. How about think before you act, huh?

_Well done, Farrelly, well done,_ he thinks and rolls his head against the wall.

But again… although Phil has pushed him away in the end, during that wannabe-kiss he has pulled him closer, at least for a moment and he hasn't wiped his lips. Hasn't kicked him out immediately.

It is like having those few jigsaw pieces lying on a table and having this new one, trying to put it here, there… only to place it somwhere in between, because once again it doesn't fit in anywhere.

He wonders if something has happened to Phil that he reacts like this. If he's been hurt badly by someone…

"I don't want to go," he says quietly, but maybe it is loud enough in the quietness of the apartment that Phil hears it in there.

Stephen hopes it. Just like he hopes that it will make Phil think about it… them, whatever this is that makes it a _them_… again. There is a them. Somehow.

He doesn't even know why he's putting so much effort into this, it's not like he's head over heels in love with this man. He has come here for answers and now? Now he doesn't want to leave again, and it's not only because he hasn't gotten the wanted answers but…

Although it seems Phil wants him out of his life, it feels like there is more, something that can be special if it gets a chance to breathe and it's worth fighting for.

"Phil?" he says, closing his eyes again as he does. "I meant it, you know? I like yer."

If the apartment has been quiet before, is seems to fall utterly silent now and for the rest of the night Stephen just sits there, tries to find sleep but fails to for hours, drowning in his own thoughts and it is early morning when he finally drifts off into a fitful slumber…

x

It is the sound of the door being unlocked that shakes him out of his slumber and he has barely enough time to clear his muddled mind before the door opens and Phil almost trips over his outstretched legs. Gazing up to the other man, his first impulse is to apologize for blocking the way, but he forgets about it as he notices ho pale Phil is. And that the he practically clings to the door and the frame, swaying slightly. He meets slightly reddened, glassy eyes. Angry eyes. Tired eyes.

Phil steps over his legs, walking towards the bathroom and although he keeps his hand on the wall, he sways alarmingly. Climbing to his feet, Stephen follows him.

"Phil…"

"Fuck off, Farrelly," Phil says much too weak, his voice hoarse.

And then suddenly he stops, his breathing becoming deep, but fast and unsteady as he leans against the wall, his hands trying to find a hold that isn't there. Stephen watches as Phil's knees buckle. His feet move before his brain catches up and he manages to wrap his arms around Phil just before he slumps to the floor. Heat is radiating off the body in his arms.

"Phil?" Stephen calls quietly, but the other man has passed out.

Worried he feels Phil's forehead, finding it burning with fever but at the touch he feels him stir in his arms, hears a barely audible moan.

"Phil… hey, come on, look at me…" he murmurs and smoothes gently over the raven hair.

The green eyes flutter open, gazing around for a disorientated moment, before they find Stephen's, who feels the urge to smack some sense into the other man as the tired, fever-reddened eyes shoot him something that might be supposed to be a glare.

"I… I told you to… fuck off…"

Raising an eyebrow, he snorts: "Yer are sick. Yer are running a fever and just passed out and yer are really expecting me to go? Yeah, sure, Brooks."

Phil's breathing is still heavy and unsteady he notices.

Softly he wipes a thin sheen of sweat from Phil's forehead as he asks: "When was the last time yer had something to eat and drink?"

Attempting to get out of his hold, Phil moves to crawl away from him, but he doesn't come far, slumping back into his arms with a small moan that turns to dry retching.

"Phil…"

"Fuck off," Phil croaks and goes back to retching dry.

With a sigh, Stephen brings an arm under Phil's knees and lifts him up, carrying the weakly struggling man to his bed.

"Yer got circulation disorders, Phil, yer need to at least drink something," he says softly as he places him on the bed and pulls the blanket over him, before he sits down on the edge of the mattress.

"Just… leave me alone…" Phil wants to snap, but all that comes out is a weak rasp.

"I'm not going anywhere, yer stubborn mule," Stephen replies with a slight shake of his head. "Yer are sick and I'll be damned if I leave yer alone like this. I'm gonna stay until yer are feeling better and then yer can still kick me out." If you still want to kick me out then, he adds in his mind. "Look, yer only need to talk to me if necessary, okay? I'm not gonna bother yer. All yer need to do is sleep, take yer meds and eat and drink something and get well. Deal?"

Phil looks at him warily, but as Stephen reaches out, again gently wiping sweat from his forehead, he doesn't turn his head away, closes his eyes instead and sighs and Stephen takes it as a silent okay.

"I'm gonna get yer something to drink now and the medicine," he says hushed as he gets up.

Phil blinks at him and the wariness and the supposed-to-be-glare are gone, leaving only exhaustion behind. And there is also a certain relief lying in those green orbs, Stephen thinks, but maybe he's only imagining it. Giving the other man a small smile, he leaves to get water and the meds.

Phil is almost asleep as he comes back only two minutes later and Stephen isn't sure if he's really with him as he helps him sit up a little, helps him to take the meds and drink some water and when Stephen leaves again for a minute to get a washcloth and cold water, putting the wet piece of fabric on the heat glowing forehead, Phil is fast asleep.

Retrieving a random book from a shelf, he climbs on to the bed beside the sleeping man and gazes at him for a long moment, brushes his fingertips over a hot cheek in a soft caress before he starts reading.

It is what he does for the next hours. Reading, refreshing the wet cloth. Waiting.

And even a bit… hoping…

* * *

**A/N**

Although I don't expect much feedback to my SheaPunk stories and decided that my At-least-6-reviews-term does not apply to them, I would be happy if you left some words to tell me if you liked it :3


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks guys for the feedback! Sooo much and I'm so glad that you like this story XD

And now I hope that you'll like this chapter, too ;3

Enjoy!

A/N: It's very late over here already, so I admit I'm much too tired to go on typo-mistakes and stuff. Please overhead them for now, I promise I'll do the correction tomorrow :3

* * *

Long hours without sleep. Long hours of reading, waiting. Of sitting beside Phil in silence for most of the time, yet every now and then he speaks to him, hushed and sometimes not more than a whisper. Calming words. Words of affection. And with the words come soothing touches. It's in those moments when Phil leaves the heavy and sickness-induced, fever-laced sleep and slips into an uneasy, nightmarish state of being half awake, half unconcious that Stephen does it, like leaning close, leaving a kiss on a heated forehead to shoo the fever and the nightmares away, the burning skin keeping his lips prisoner for a long moment every time they touch it. And his hand, it finds Phil's, holding it until the bad dream ist over.

Long hours. A whole day, a whole night. Stephen refuses to sleep, does everything he can to make it easier for Phil, like cooling his body with cold poultices, gently washing the sweat of his face, arms, legs, chest…

Four times though he finds himself close to panicking as the fever peaks, reaching a critical state and while he cools the burning body with cold water and ice, his mind already calls an ambulance. But every time he fever peaks, Stephen somehow wins and manages to bring it down again.

It's early morning when Stephen finds the fever drop with every time he takes Phil's temperature, until it's gone eventually. The fever-laced sleep becomes a calm, restful one and still he keeps sitting beside Phil, watches him sleep and get better and the sleeping man's skin is warm now, not burning anymore. And it's hushing the deep worry that lingers in Stephen and it's almost impossible for him not to look at the peaceful sight.

The morning crawls on and to Stephen it seems endless as he waits for Phil to wake up. It's noon when a soft little sound reaches his ear and when he looks at Phil, he finds green orbs wander around the room, confusion and exhaustion lying in them. The still slightly dazed eyes keep their aimless trail through the room up, until Phil eventually realizes that there is someone sitting at his side and slowly turning his head a bit towards Stephen, he meets his gaze.

Stephen watches as something shifts in those green eyes and suddenly there is a softness lying in them and relief maybe.

"Hey there," Stephen murmurs and smiles down at Phil, gently running his fingers through the damp locks. "Welcome back." He feels a sunny warmth grow in his chest as Phil gives him a tiny smile and hums. "How are yer feeling?"

"Like shit," Phil whispers. "Sticky…"

"How 'bout a shower? Will make yer feel a bit better," Stephen suggests. "I'm gonna have an eye on yer though. Don't want yer to pass out again and hit yer pretty head."

"Pretty head, huh?" Phil snorts weakly and slightly quirks an eyebrow. "You just want to see me naked."

The smile on Stephen's face dims a bit, becomes very soft as he replies quietly: "Tha, too."

The slight amusement that laces into his voice doesn't cover the truth that lies within his answer and Phil's smile dims, too, as he hears it. But it doesn't vanish from his lips, rather becomes uncertain. Shy almost.

And Stephen thinks that despite the pale, sticky, sweaty and crumpled mess Phil is this very moment, that he looks… adorable.

"Yeah… a shower would be great," Phil eventually whispers, the shy smile staying on his lips.

It takes them about ten minutes until Phil finally stands under in the shower, letting the water rain down on him and he's still wobbly on his legs. Stephen stands close, just in case Phil passes out again or slips.

With a sigh Phil closes his eyes and dips his head back and Stephen allows his eyes travel over the other man's body, watches the water cascade down on it. He has seen him naked before, more than once, but he has never before actually been aware of what he's been seeing. He is now and… he likes the picture in front of him. And he can still feel this body molded against his own.

His heart starts to beat a bit harder…

Another sigh gets washed away by the falling water as Phil opens his eyes again and turns the water off, oblivious to the way he's being looked at and it gives Stephen the time to direct his gaze back at Phil's face. The other man is still pale, but it's better than a few minutes ago.

Blue finds green and it is back, that shy smile, as Phil steps out of the shower, but it's wiped from his lips as he sways, screws his eyes shut and Stephen practically sees the just gained bit of color drain from his face. Phil's hands come up to Stephen's chest and fist into his tee for a hold, but it's the broad arm wrapped around his waist that holds him safe until the color returns to the smaller man's face.

"Better?" Stephen asks quietly after a few seconds and receives a hesitant nod.

Fishing for the bathrobe, he wraps Phil into it and hangs a towel over his head, gently drying the raven hair, while the hands stay fisted in his shirt. Once more the green eyes close and Phil seems to relax under his ministration, the strained features becoming smooth… He stops then, lets his fingers glide under the towel and runs them through the now damp strands of black hair, pushes the towel back until it falls to the floor with a quiet flap and he wonders if Phil allows him to do this because he's not yet back to his old self, or because… he likes it. Wants it? Stephen blinks once, because he for sure likes to touch the smaller man like this…

… and wants it…

And suddenly Stephen feels as if he's taking advantage of the situation, of Phil, who's still tired, exhausted. Weak. Guilt seeps into the moment. His hands leave the dark hair and he tries not to think that he sees a certain regret in the other man's eyes as he does. Phil's hands eventually let go of Stephen's tee as the hood of the bathrobe is pulled over his head, slips his arms into the sleeve and wraps the robe tightly around himself.

He's ridiculously pliant though as Stephen guides him to the couch, a big arm circling his waist, while a strong hand is curled around his upper arm to steady him. It's quietness that keeps them company on their way there, as Stephen helps the other man to get comfortable or as he goes to the kitchen to get some water for Phil. He tells him that he goes to make the bed fresh, that Phil only needs to call him and he's gonna be back in a blink. And… that he'll leave today when he can be sure that the fever stays down. His words sound dull in the lingering quietness, as dull as Phil's eyes are suddely. He wants to see that softness again, to see them glow, those beautiful, green and deep orbs. With an inaudible little sigh he turns around without any further words and heads for the bedroom. Only that he doesn't come far.

"That man I've been with, he…" Phil begins quietly but trails off as if he's afraid that someone could actually hear him.

The words are spoked _so_ quietly that Stephen almost misses it, but the very second it sinks into his mind, it stops him dead in his tracks and it is the fact that Phil finally _speaks_ to him, the way his voice sounds, so small somehow. For a hesitant moment he's torn between staying where he is, half on his way to the bedroom with his back turned towards the other man and maybe it would make it easier for Phil to say what he wants to this way, not being watched while speaking… and going back to the couch. But then his feet carry him back. Phil meets his eyes only for a short moment, averts his gaze then and it is more than obvious that he feels uncomfortable and so Stephen sits down on the floor beside the couch, with his back towards Phil. He can feel the moment when the other man looks at him again, can feel those green eyes rest on him.

For a long minute Stephen waits patiently for Phil to continue and when the other man finally speaks again, his voice is just above a whisper.

"He… we dated for a while and then one night he…"

Again Phil trails off and Stephen can hear him swallow hard and it causes the hair on his neck to stand on end, the way Phil speaks, hesitant, unsure, even scared a bit and maybe even worse, the words which haven't been spoke yet. What follows then leaves him shaken to his very core and with every word he feels a rage flare… as much as he wants to just turn around and soothe Phil's troubles away.

"He forced himself on me," Phil eventually says and now it's a mere whisper. "And because I thought that he loved me, I let him have his way. When I woke up the morning after I found a fucking note that he doesn't want to jeopardize his whole life for a relationship with a man. This bastard hurt me in every possible way and I swore to myself that I would never let someone hurt me again. I guess I… I couldn't go to Chicago without finding out about… what I feel. And it's easier, you know, to be the one who hurts other people... instead of being the one who gets hurt."

Phil falls silent and his words hang heavy in the air between them. So heavy that they almost crush Stephen under their weight. He wants to breathe, but there is a pressure on his chest that makes it too hard for long seconds. He wants to turn around and just pull the other man into his arms and hold him.

He wants to do something, anything. But he has no idea… what. He dares not to do anything anyway. Phil is just opening up and he does not want to crack that barely there new thing that's just growing.

With the feeling of those green orbs looking at him questioningly, waiting, he forces out: "Do I know him?"

"What? Do you want to beat him to a pulp?" Phil half huffs, half snorts, sounding still much too weak.

Stephen doesn't answer, but the idea of beating that bastard to a pulp sounds like a plan and… he can't remember a time before when he has ever thought something like that.

"Stephen?"

He still doesn't say anything, just dips his head a bit forward. The epiphany that hits him this very second doesn't shake him as much as he would have expected or as it probaby should and maybe, just maybe it is because he has already known it… without understanding what it is.

He is in love.

It is as simple as that. He is in love with this peculiar man and neither does is shock him, nor digust him, because the gem that is hidden behind that façade is too beautiful. So very beautiful that Stephen doesn't look away. Doesn't want to. Never again. He is in love with Phil and it's the best thing that has ever happened to him… because never before has he felt a need like the one he's been feeling in the past days, that need for more… a need for this man. A need that makes him feel alive in a way he could never have magined. And it feels so goddamn good…

"You would really do that…" It is a statement, not a question and Phil says it in disbelief and maybe there is also a tad wonder lying in it. When Stephen refuses to give a reply, Phil adds softly: "No. You don't know him."

Nodding slightly, thinking that it's better that it's no one he knows, Stephen eventually murmurs: "I'm not him."

He can feel a change in the way the other man looks at him. It feels softer. It feels good and there it is again, the need for more. For a second or two he forgets how to breathe as he notices a featherlight touch on the back of his neck.

"I know," Phil whispers and the touch moves over to Stephen's shoulder, becoming firmer as Phil lets his hand rest there. "I'm sorry, you know? For everything. I shouldn't have done this to you. I'm not better than him."

John's words come back to him. What if Phil is just as confused as you are. What if he is scared and feels lost? John has been right, hasn't he?

Covering the hand on his shoulder with his own, Stephen turns his head slightly towards it and replies gently: "Don't say tha. Yer are not like him. And I could have stopped yer, but I _didn't want_ yer to stop. I'm not sorry tha yer came to me locker and I'm not sorry tha I'm here now."

There is the tiniest of twitches of the hand he has covered, yet it stays right there on his shoulder. Then there is another tiny movement as Phil begins to brush his thumb back and forth a bit.

"Why, Stephen? Why are you putting up with everything I do and say? I… huh, I don't understand it."

He moves his own hand up a little more until he can close his fingers around Phil's wrist, just in case the other man will try to pull his hand back, because he doesn't want it. He doesn't want to lose Phil's touch.

"Isn't tha obvious?"

The thumb falters in its trail for a short moment, but Phil doesn't ask further. Maybe he knows. It _feels_ like he knows. But maybe Stephen is wrong and it is only the hope that Phil does understand, does know and that the other man feels the same.

Too fucking naïve…

"Yer said yer wanted to find out about what yer feel…" Stephen says after what feels like a minute.

Again the thumb falters in its movement. Not wanting to push his luck, Stephen waits and decides not to dig further as he receives no answer. This now… it is much more than he could have hoped for. After what might be another full minute, Phil shifts behind him, leans closer until Stephen can hear him breathe close to his ear. Fingers curl on his shoulder, into his shirt and with a sigh a forehead is rested against the back of his head.

"Stay until tomorrow?" Phil whispers and the soft caress of warm breath on his skin makes Stephen's spine tingle.

"Yeah," he breathes, never letting go of Phil's wrist.

_It's a start_, he thinks. _It's good. _

And it is. For now it is actually… perfect. As perfect as it can be under the given circumstances. His heart reaches out to this little piece of perfection and wraps around it, puts it to every tiny good moment, thing, in the hope to eventually form the perfect perfection out of it.

They keep sitting like this for long minutes, yet it feels by far not long enough as Stephen feels Phil settle back into the cushion and when he eventually turns to face the other man, never letting go of his hand though, he sees his eyes already drooping. But he also finds a soft smile playing on Phil's lips and so he waits a little longer, hold his hand, until Phil has fallen asleep.

Only then he lets go of the precious hand and goes to the bedroom to change the bedclothes. Phil is fast asleep when he comes back to the couch, so very much that he doesn't even stir as Stephen gathers him in his arm and carries him over to the bed where he tucks him in. He sits on the edge of the mattress for a few more minutes, before he decides to rest a bit and goes back to the couch, leaving the door open.

Stephen has no idea how long he's been lying in there in the darkness, willing his eyes to stay closed and in the quietness of the room his thoughts are so loud that the noise threatens to burst his head. His brain runs in turbo mode as it tries to process what has happened ever since he has put a foot into this apartment. Everything. So very loud… that he hears the steps only as they stop right in front of him. His eyes want to open to get a glimpse, yet he wills them to stay closed. Once more he doesn't want to scare Phil away…

Another step. And one more. A rustling. And then a hesitant little kiss is placed on his temple and this tiny gesture sends jolts throughout him.

He keeps still as the lips linger a heartbeat or two on his temple and he can't move anyway, because he is frozen to the spot… afraid that _if_ he moves, that the moment shatters. The lips leave his skin, leaving him weak and desperate for more and his heart cries, so very loud that there is a chance that Phil hears it. His fingers itch to reach out to him. Touch him. Hold him. Feel him, even if it's only the tiniest of touches. And then his heart trips, the cries falling silent as… as the blanket it lifted a little and the cuhsion dips under Phil's extra weight as he slips under the blacket and lies down in front of Stephen with his back pressed against the broad chest.

This… has to be a dream… because… how can this be real?

Not sure if he really should dare it, Stephen hesitates to reach out and touch him and it ridiculous, isn't it, that he's afraid to do this, now that the man who has claimed his heart and tried so hard to push him away has come to him… The pressure against his chest gets firmer as Phil inches back against him subtly. An unspoken invitation which his heart can't decline… His arm moves, curls around Phil's chest gingerly, and his hand finds a perfect place on the spot right above a fast beating heart as he pulls the smaller frame even closer and feels him move in his hold ever so sligthly, before a hand settles on his. Fingers intertwine.

His cosmos is filled with the warmth of the body that lies pressed up against him and the beating heart under his hand, with the sound of soft breathing and the calming scent of sandalwood. And still he can't believe that this is real. _This is Phil_. Lying in his arms. No. No, he can't believe it. But for now it doesn't matter if this is a dream or not, because for now his world just has become a little more perfect and his heart sings and his mind floats in the bubble of good feelings which grows around them. Nuzzling his cheek against the raven hair, he lets go and for the first time in days… his whirling thoughts fall silent. It takes only a handful of seconds before he feels the body in his arms go slack, feels him sag in his embrace. The soft breathing sound becomes barely audible and the rising and falling of Phil's chest goes shallow and slow. And almost as if Phil pulls his down into sleep with him, he feels a faint tugging as the strain of the past days makes itself know, bringing a overwhelming exhaustion along. But now it is okay, isn't it? To give himself a break?

Sleep floods him and he drowns in it willingly, the utter, peaceful silence in his head carrying him and Phil… his warmth, his scent… guarding him…


End file.
